Headache
by Quiirky
Summary: "Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one who inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it." -Mark Twain
1. I

Reid placed a spidery hand on his forehead, pressing lightly in a feeble attempt to ebb the pain. It was two o'clock in the morning and he was still at the office completing paperwork. Usually, he was the first to finish and leave but today, every time he'd stared too long at seemingly meaningless words on a document, the letters had begun to shift around on the paper, eventually converging and morphing into a living, breathing entity that popped from the flat surface. Reid was reminded of kindergarten when he would wear special glasses to view 3D illustrations in science books. Back then, the images were dinosaurs and sea life and such; however, what was standing in front of him now, staring at him with cold, dark eyes, was a familiar face – a human face. Reid blinked a few times and glanced down only to be stunned by the fact that Hotch's face was no longer floating in the air, but attached to a tall, strong, suit-clad body.

"H-Hotch," Reid squeaked, rubbing his eyes furiously then gazing up to see if the vision was still there, "I'm sorry. I know I should be done by now, but…" Reid stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape, because now that he was glaring down at his paperwork, all he saw were blank sheets of white.

"What are you doing with the printer paper?" Hotch's voice boomed, and Reid threw a hand up over his eyes.

"Don't shout, Hotch. Please don't shout."

"Reid, what's the matter? Are you okay?" There was a trace of concern in Hotch's tone.

"I… Yeah, I'm fine," Reid lied, massaging his temples and forcing a small smile. "I got fined once for a late library book. It's kind of late for you to be here, isn't it?"

Hotch's face rearranged into an even deeper frown. He walked around the table towards his subordinate and as he did so, Reid observed how the older man's limbs blurred as they moved and how the dim artificial light played off of Hotch's features and distorted his half-shadowed face.

"I've been worrying about you lately, Reid. I feel somewhat responsible for the well-being of everyone on this team."

Reid remained silent. He could feel Hotch's gaze boring into him and avoided eye contact.

"Do you need to catch another movie?" Hotch asked, and Reid knew immediately he was talking about Narcotics Anonymous.

"I'm not having a relapse," he said quickly, licking his lips and leaning back in his chair.

Hotch grabbed a nearby chair and set it next to Reid. "I'm all ears, Doctor," he flat lined, tugging the pants fabric covering his thighs as he sat, as to be more comfortable, like he was expecting Reid to talk for a long time…

"I'm not going to do this again," Reid snapped, rising from his chair in one fluid motion. "I'm not going to sit here and talk to myself."

In a flash, Hotch too was on his feet. "Sit down," he ordered, voice deathly calm.

"I'm not going to listen to you, either!" Reid shouted. Inside his chest, his heart was popping ping-pong balls like the pick four lottery. He was certainly taking a chance here.

Hotch's eyes flashed dangerously. Reid turned around and was walking briskly towards the door.

"Don't move," Hotch's voice hissed in his ear. Reid jumped and whipped around. Hotch's body was still standing by the table.

"Stop fucking with me!" Reid cried hysterically, closing his eyes and covering his ears, running blindly in an unknown direction.

Something large and mobile collided with Reid's side, bruising his ribs and sending him crashing to the floor. Reid opened his eyes to find Hotch on hands and knees, leaning over him, panting. The florescent light was directly behind Hotch, haloing his head. His face was completely shrouded in darkness except for a pair of blood red lips. Reid held his breath in horror as an evil smirk tugged at the corners of Hotch's mouth.

Reid opened his mouth and screamed.


	2. II

The back of Hotch's hand collided with the younger man's cheek. Reid's scream died in the back of his throat as his head snapped violently to the left. Immediately, and with equally vicious force, Hotch swung the same hand forward and his palm struck the other side of Reid's face with a loud, hollow slap. Reid yelped like an abused dog and covered his cheekbones with his cold, clammy fingers, trying desperately to quell the sting. His tongue flickered over his mouth, smearing the blood from a newly formed crack on his lower lip.

"Shut the hell up," growled Hotch, pinning his subordinate's shoulders to the ground.

"Okay, okay… I'll shut up. Just get off of me… please," Reid whimpered.

"I said shut _up_!" The last word was emphasized by a heavy blow to Reid's face.

Tears welled up in Reid's eyes, blurring the wrathful face above him. His jaw throbbed where Hotch's knuckles had just struck him. He wanted to scream or cry or beg, but he was afraid what the consequences might be for making another sound.

"That's better." Hotch's voice came from a distance and Reid blinked and turned his head; saline spilled from his tear ducts and cleared his sight and he saw that Hotch was now on the other side of the room, sitting on top of the unfinished paperwork on the desk.

"Get up."

Reid sat up and shifted position, attempting to rise from the floor, but his head felt unusually heavy and the room was suddenly spinning.

"Get up and come here."

The young doctor was on his knees, trying to push himself up with his hands because his knees were like ungreased hinges, refusing to work properly. Unfortunately he did not possess enough arm strength to lift his upper body and fell hard on his chest, jarring his head and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Razor sharp pain sliced through the left side of Reid's head and as he lay gasping for breath; he brought a hand up to cover his temple only to touch a wet, sticky substance.

"What the – ?"

Beneath the fresh blood something solid and cold was protruding from Reid's flesh. A flood of shock and panic suffocated him.

"You made me do it," a deep, emotionless voice hissed in his ear. A remorseless voice. "You insisted on disobeying me."

Despite the searing pain, Reid's whole being was overcome by a paralyzing fear. He couldn't move, couldn't even look up to see Hotch crouching there next to him, but a bloodied hand hung in Reid's peripheral vision.

"Oh my God, Hotch, what have you done?" he demanded hysterically, attempting to tug the impaled pen from his temple.

"What have I done?" laughed the mirthless voice. "What have _you_ done?"

"I haven't done anything! Why are you doing this to me? I didn't do anything!"

"Really, Spencer?" a woman's voice echoed from the door. It was a familiar voice.

"M-mom? What are you doing here? You've got to help me!"

"You've got to help me!" the voice mocked coldly. "Why should I help you when you didn't help me? You locked me away."

"No, Mom, please! I can explain..." Reid reached up towards the tall maternal figure that was now hovering over him.

"Why are you talking to a lamp?" Hotch quipped snidely, grabbing the collar of Reid's shirt and yanking him onto the desk.

Sprawled across the hard wooden surface, Reid was sobbing. How were they back at the desk? Where had his mom gone? Had he sent her away again?

Something was tugging at the side of his head. He reached to touch it and his fingers grazed a clotted pool of blood. The pen was no longer there. Reid's hand slipped down the side of his face and landed with a dull thud by his nose. The liquid coating his fingers was midnight black. It was ink. There was ink pouring from his brain.

"Too much loss," he whispered, attempting to stop the leak with crumpled sheets of paper. "Help."

But Hotch was gone and Reid was all alone in the office. Lying on the table, his whole body shaking, he closed his eyes to the dimming world and blacked out completely.

After an eternity or no time at all, a scared voice called into the darkness and stirred the young man's senses.

"Reid!"


	3. III

Darkened shapes hung over him like a mobile, swaying back and forth and in and out of focus, taking turns eclipsing the nauseating light. Morgan's voice oozed through the cracks of Reid's subconscious; he sounded excited, but not in a good way. Maybe worried? Impatient? _Call an ambulance!_ What did that mean?

"Hang in there, pretty boy. Everything's gonna be okay."

One of the shapes was talking. It was using Morgan's voice. In fact, if Reid concentrated hard enough, he could even smell Morgan. What was Morgan doing in his house?

"Why are you here?" Reid asked. He heard his own voice as if it belonged to somebody else.

"Because we work here. This is the BAU, kid. It looks like you took a nasty fall."

"They're on their way!" a new voice announced. Garcia?

Reid relaxed his eyelids and drifted into dusk once more.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a bright white room. If Reid had believed in heaven, he would've thought himself dead, but the fact that he was thinking meant that he was conscious, which in turn meant that he was still alive. The elevated bed he was lying on indicated that this was a hospital. The stench of urine masked by the scent of antibacterial soap was another clue.

"He's awake!"

Reid turned his head to the side – a big mistake, as he found out when his temple gave a mighty throb – to be greeted with the sight of Morgan.

"Hello," Reid rasped, attempting to smile.

Morgan was leaning in towards the bed, perching on a chair right next to Reid's IV bag. He cusped his hand around Reid's, careful not to touch the needle. Reid gave Morgan's fingers a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm okay, Morgan. My head really hurts, but…"

Reid's voice trailed off as a man rose from another chair that was hidden behind Morgan. Suddenly, a belligerent torrent of memories sent Reid into a panic.

"You!" he shouted, staring at Hotch in horror.

A passing nurse paused and peeked in the door. Hotch waved her away with a nod.

"What's wrong with you, Reid? It's just Hotch?" Morgan questioned, looking startled by the sudden outburst.

"Last night! He hit me! And he stabbed me! Look!" Reid pointed to his bandaged head.

"Reid, you fell –"

"No, I didn't! Ask him!" Reid pointed dramatically at his boss with his left hand.

Morgan glanced up at Hotch and Hotch glanced down at Morgan. A wrinkle emerged in the older man's forehead.

"I have no idea what he's talking about. Reid, I was home with Jack last night."

Reid frowned incredulously. "You're lying! He is, Morgan. You know he always stays late to finish a case."

Morgan put a hand on Reid's shoulder. "Reid…"

"No! Really, he hurt me! Why don't you believe me?"

"Reid," Hotch's voice was dripping with concern, "Yesterday was a long day. I went home as soon as we got back. You stayed to finish paperwork. Something must've happened then. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I… I saw my mom. Then you put me on the desk. I was bleeding!"

"Reid, why would your mom be at the BAU?" Morgan said gently.

"She… I… I must've just bumped my head," Reid concluded dejectedly. He was in too much denial to voice the possibility that he'd hallucinated. He put a hand to his head. The light was starting to bother him again. Despite the pain medications they must have put him on, his head was aching terribly.

"We'll go and let you get some rest now," Morgan stated, rising from his chair and standing next to Hotch. "If you need anything, give one of us a call."

"Thanks," Reid whispered. He licked his lips. His mouth was so dry.

Morgan and Hotch gazed down at Reid a moment before walking to the door. Their footsteps were loud and sharp as the two men clacked against the linoleum tiles like tap dancers. As the door creaked, Reid momentarily focused his attention on his colleagues' receding backs. Hotch was following Morgan. For a split second, immediately before he disappeared from view, Hotch turned his head to examine Reid one last time. When he saw Reid was watching, the corner of Hotch's mouth curled into a victorious smirk.


End file.
